Blood boils,

almost like water, 

more like that bubbly asphalt tar in southern summer, 

so

hot, 

it melts the sole. 

Sure, 

 butterflies

with twitterpated flippant wings

thrash about 

in something not unlike ecstacy

but 

if you look close enough,

if you can focus clearly,

you can see a sad little frozen heart

beat itself 

to death.